


Lather, Rinse, Repeat

by squid (triesquid)



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Fluff and Angst, M/M, Post Trinity, Sentient Atlantis, Stargate Atlantis AU, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-12
Updated: 2012-12-12
Packaged: 2017-11-21 00:36:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 4,628
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/591455
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/triesquid/pseuds/squid
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the aftermath of another mistake that could have been prevented.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. another mistake

**Author's Note:**

> Spoilers for: SG-1 [possibly]—48 Hours and Redemption Parts 1 and 2; Atlantis—Rising Part 1, The Defiant One, Hot Zone, The Siege Part 1, and, especially, Trinity, 
> 
> This was the first formal, published fanfic ever. I was so proud, but this was written years ago. So--be nice? It's very old, and I've gotten so much better since then. I've also done some minor editing to this thing.
> 
> The Daniel-bit was inspired by something that I read in another fic, but I can't find it now. It was beautiful and inspired and if it's yours, please let me know. I so want to give you credit so that everyone else will read it. It stuck with me—obviously. Also, there's the tiniest bit of John/Rodney (there's more later, I assure you) in here if you squint right, but nothing really slashy (yet). 
> 
> Forgive the British-isms. I have a headcanon that Daniel went to Oxford--well, it might be more than headcanon--but honestly, I'm having canon/non-canon moment and cannot remember.
> 
> Thanks to my beta whee.

Rodney collapsed against his room door and slid down to the floor—knees drawn up to his chest, hands clasped about his ankles, head against cool not-metal.  _My fault. My arrogance._  Rodney's nails bit into his wrists, his head hitting against the door with a gentle metallic ringing that belied the velocity of connection.  _Mistakes. Just repeatedly stupid mistakes increasing in their intensity._  
  
He had been certain. Completely, utterly certain. Certain that his calculations would fix the fluctuations. That he was right and everyone else was wrong. He had been certain--but he'd been wrong. Terribly, terribly wrong.  _I nearly destroyed an entire solar system with my stupidity._  The door rung again as Rodney's head collided with the door.  _It wasn't my intention, but the road to Hell and all..._  
  
And what kind of  _memento mori_  was that decimated solar system for Collins? None. It was a monument to Rodney's sheer stubbornness and blind belief in his infallibility.   _But I'm not infallible, and when I'm wrong, people die._  
  
And Rodney could hear Daniel in his mind from a moment of geek-solidarity that they had shared.  _It's not that we don't make mistakes, Rodney. Even geniuses make mistakes. It's that, when we screw up, we know that we've bollixed it up beyond comprehension. That we alone **know**  how truly buggered it all is. And, in that knowledge, lies even greater guilt._ 

Rodney had always wondered what precisely were the sins that Daniel carried to make him so wise.  
  
But Daniel was right.

The guilt continued to gnaw and the faces of those that he had inadvertently killed paraded before him, asking him why they had had to die:  Gaul, Abrams, Grodin, Peterson, Dumais, everyone who had died in the Wraith attack.

When he made mistakes, people died.  
  
And, god, had Rodney fucked up this time.  
  
Yet the worst of it—worse than losing Collins, than blowing up a solar system, than not having the Ancient's energy source, than repudiating Radek's friendship in a moment of megalomaniacal arrogance, or Elizabeth's more-than-justified anger—the absolute worst was that John had lost faith in Rodney.

Rodney had asked for John's trust, and he had failed.

No matter what John said, Rodney knew that he would never be able to earn back that trust, that faith.

Nothing would ever be right again.


	2. ...haunting

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Spoilers for: Anything in Atlantis up to "Trinity." Possibly.
> 
> Tolstoy wrote War and Peace. Dostoevsky wrote Notes form the Underground. Always thanks to my beta, whee. Enjoy.

"Worst of all, I found it positively stupid.  
And I would gladly have settled just for intelligence."

—Dostoevsky,  _Notes from the Underground_

* * *

John shifted in bed, damp hair causing the cotton beneath his head to become clammy and too-cool. His book was propped against his forehead, covering his eyes and nose, black letters blurring to nonexistence.  _Dostoevsky. Not Tolstoy, but still a good author. Wordy, Russian, and very dead._  John sighed, picking his book back up. He wished it could be in contentment, but after the events of the day—

 _Worst of all, I found it positively stupid. And I would gladly have settled just for intelligence._  
  
It sounded a lot like Rodney—Rodney the pre-despondency, proto-Underground-man.  
  
 _Rodney._  
  
"Damnit." It really wasn't Rodney's fault that the mission had all gone to hell.  _Well, mostly not._  
  
John couldn't blame Rodney for wanting to ensure that Collins' death had some sort of meaning—especially after all the good people that had become causalities of Atlantis. John had lost people for no other reason than that they had become Wraith-food. So had Rodney.  
  
And it wasn't just the scientists that Rodney had lost—it was everyone. John  _knew_  that Rodney felt every loss, bore them as wounds on his soul—some festering, some scars.

John felt it too. But John had found ways to make it tolerable, distractions that dulled the ache for awhile.  
  
John wasn't certain Rodney ever had.  
  
 _After today, I know he hasn't._  
  
John's book landed with a muffled  _foof_  against his pillow as he stretched into standing, a few vertebrae popping back into place. John grabbed his uniform pants off the end of the bed and slipped them on.  _I should talk to Rodney._  
  
Yeah, Rodney had screwed up in a monumental fashion, but he was still a member of his team—a  _friend_ —who was hurting.  _Bastard can't do anything in moderation though, can he? Hasn't he ever read[ Siddhartha](http://manybooks.net/titles/hesseheretext01siddh10.html)? All things in moderation?_ But John couldn't really hold fault with the sentiment. It wasn't like he hadn't led a more-than-likely-suicide rescue-mission with little more than a few marines and a puddlejumper he barely had known how to operate.  
  
He could empathize with the grand displays that could get more-than-oneself killed.  Really, he could.  
  
 _And I took one of my own out that day._  But Rodney had helped him to plan that mission, had trusted him to know what he was doing without understanding—at least  _military_ -understanding—and without knowing John really, without John having to ask.  
  
 _But you didn't blow up half a solar system. And when you make mistakes, it's not with nuclear-anything. Generally speaking._  
  
Nope, Rodney definitely had a card in his deck no one should have had, but Rodney tried to use it wisely.  _How many times has he saved you with that insane, blind arrogance? That he **knew**  he could save you and that no one else could? _Rodney had a lot of reason to be certain in his ability to save the day—yet, when he screwed up...  
  
 _What? You think he doesn't understand what he did? Even if he didn't, Elizabeth made it pretty clear._  
  
 _And remember, he came to apologize to you personally. He said that he knew he had to earn back your trust._  
  
 _He was also incredibly blasé about it all too. Don't forget that._  
  
Seeing the odd crooked-cocky smile stretching Rodney's lips, the body-language that screamed confidence, made anger well-up in John all over again. Yet—  
  
 _Yet that wasn't how he felt, that wasn't what was in his eyes. There was pain there. And fear. He was putting on the front of a leader. Even after horrible, body-bag-inducing mistakes are made, a leader is still the leader. A leader cannot show weakness in the midst of defeat—_  
  
"Crap." John sat down heavily on his bed as all the remnant anger left in a rush.  _Rodney, what am I going to do with you?_  
  
Suddenly, a surge of panic overcame John—metallic and cold and salt—leaving him shaking. Before John consciously made the decision to move, he was running down the hall, bare feet nearly silent on the floors of Atlantis.  
  
John ran down the corridors fighting waves of panic that didn't feel like his and that he wasn't even certain of the origin or the cause. He ran until he was out of breath, in front of Rodney's door—part of him surprised by the destination, part of him clamoring to get the door open.  
  
John's hand connected with the door with a gentle  _thud_. "Rodney?" Escaped John's lips in no more than a whisper, but it was enough for Atlantis to realize his concern and open the door with nary a sound.  
  
The room was empty—bed a mess, windows open to allow the nearly too-cold air to chill the room. "Rodney?" John called softly.  
  
Nothing.  
  
No response. No movement. No breath.  
  
"Damnit."  
  
John turned and began running again, uncertain of the destination other than it was toward Rodney, but trusting,  _knowing_ , Atlantis would guide him.  
  
John navigated the night-darkened, between-shift empty hallways and transporters, passing places familiar, then not-quite-so familiar, than completely alien to him. His steps echoed deeper and deeper into areas of Atlantis that were, as yet, unexplored, known only through Wraith-extermination if by that.  
  
And then he was before a door.  
  
The door opened with a thought to reveal a balcony placed high up a tower.  
  
 _And isn't it always a balcony?_  
  
A balcony with Rodney standing on the wrong side of the railing. 


	3. walking the razor's edge...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Spoilers for: Stargate episodes—Children of the Gods [maybe], The Light, and Legacy; any and all Atlantis episodes
> 
> Honestly, I still am not completely certain what's with the balconies in SGA fic, but all bow before the trope.

The waves crashed against the sides of Atlantis eighteen stories below Rodney. The rhythmic sound and the sleepy murmur-chirrup of seabirds filled the darkness. Rodney's hands gripped the too-cold railing, holding him balanced on the edge of falling.  _And I could. I could fall and let the water close over my head, cold and unforgiving, ending all of this forever._  
  
But that wasn't going to happen.  
  
No matter how irrevocably he had failed--his very own Edsel-impersonation--he was still too important to the mission. He was still the best chance Atlantis, Earth, and Pegasus had of defeating the Wraith.

 _God, that sounds even more arrogant than my solar-system-decimating rant._  
  
Rodney would somehow endure the loss of Elizabeth's respect, Radek's friendship, John's trust-- _I don't have a choice. I **have**  to._  
  
"It all goes away." The words escaped Rodney without intention or thought, echoing words that Daniel had once spoken on a balcony. A long time ago. A galaxy away.  
  
And it was Daniel's voice again. 

_And why is it always Daniel that comes to mind?_

Why did it seem that Daniel had understood so much of what Rodney was hiding, what Rodney felt? Why did Daniel take the time to understand?  _Maybe because he's been there._  

And, late one night in Antarctica, when Rodney was as near to homicidal-frustration as he could be without harming anyone else, Daniel had found Rodney and he had told him about the Goa'uld pleasure palace, about what it was like to be within that light and to then be separated from it. Lost. Alone.  _Not unlike losing your mind, your genius. It all goes away, fades to nothing. Sometimes, all that's left is you. Sometimes, you have to **not**  care that your mind is neither wanted nor appreciated. Even if they don't know it, you know that you're needed._  
  
 _Maybe Daniel could see the mistakes that you would inevitably make, because he had made them too._  
  
Strengthening his resolve, Rodney promised those that had been lost under his care that he would do better. He would  _be_  better.  _I have to be better. I won't lose anyone else._  


	4. another misstep and you could fall

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Spoilers for: Any and all Atlantis episodes...maybe.
> 
> Originally, this coalesced when I read Laura_trekkie's review. She wrote that: "I don't think he's as lost as Rodney thinks." This made me think of the introductory quotes from Firefly. As always, thanks to my beta, whee—always tolerant of my need to over-analyze everything.

"You're lost in the woods. We all are. Even the captain.  
The only difference is, he likes it that way." —Inara, "Serenity"  
  
"We're lost...lost in the woods." —River, "Safe"  
  


* * *

  
The tableau on the balcony made John pause in shock as Rodney wavered in and out of John's sight, his charcoal grey shirt melting into barely starlit darkness. Only Rodney's movements and pale skin differentiated him from the night. John took a steadying breath and stepped out onto the balcony, pausing as wind and not-metal chilled his bare feet.  
  
Rodney leaned out into the wind, face upturned, arms stretched out behind him, tendons taunt, saving him from a long plummet. John watched as Rodney pulled himself back against the railing, his back rod-straight, and then released his hands to drop at his sides.

Panic washed over him again, this time carrying the bitter taste of lemon and acid and recognizably John's.  
  
 _He can't—_  "Rodney?" John breathed, stepping closer to Rodney's ledge, trying not to startle him.  
  
"Colonel."  
  
A deadpanned word, barely heard above the wind. Simply a statement, an acknowledgement.  
  
A dismissal.  
  
And not like Rodney at all.  
  
"Come back to this side of the railing." John tried to make it come out an order, attempted for the imperative, but it fell flat as the fear choked him briefly, becoming just a urgent plea.  
  
Rodney didn't look at John, didn't acknowledge John's plea, just turned and swung over the railing, his feet—finally—secure upon the balcony. Eyes glued to the floor, Rodney walked towards the door. "Rodney!"  
  
Rodney stopped in mid-step. "Yes, Colonel." Without turning, without even glancing back.  _Not good._  
  
"What the hell do you think you're doing?"  _Great, John. Let's get Rodney immediately on the defensive. Like that's gonna work._  
  
Rodney's shoulders squared, and if possible, his back seemed to become even more tense. "Not being on the splat-side of the railing."  
  
 _He can't make anything easy, can he?_  
  
That was Rodney though—too smart, too knowing of what he was, what he could do.

Too ready to blame himself. Even if no one realized that he was.

"Let's try this again." John said as he stepped nearer to Rodney. "What—"  
  
"I was thinking, Colonel. That was all."  
  
And Rodney was gone through the door.  
  
"Damnit." 


	5. where there is doubt, faith

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Spoilers for: Any and all Atlantis episodes...particular reference to "Duet" and, of course, this is all a tangent off of "Trinity".
> 
> Balconies: there such a thing. 
> 
> The chapter title is from the Prayer of St. Francis [Francis of Assisi]—one of my favorite saints. For any Buffy fans reading this, and just for the cognitive stretch, Sarah McLachlan's Prayer to St. Francis plays at the end of season six: big mistakes and people trying to save their friends from themselves. Sounds slightly familiar, yeah? 
> 
> As always, thank you to my beta, whee. He's so nice and 'nuclear-flavored' is all his.

God, make me an instrument of your peace;  
Where there is hatred, let me sow love;  
Where there is injury, pardon;  
Where there is doubt, faith;  
Where there is despair, hope;  
Where there is darkness, light;  
And where there is sadness, joy.  
O Divine Master,  
Grant that I may not so much seek to be consoled as to console;  
To be understood as to understand;  
To be loved as to love;  
For it is in giving that we receive;  
And it's in pardoning that we are pardoned;  
And it is in dying that we are born to Eternal Life.  
Amen.  
  
—Prayer of St. Francis  
  


* * *

  
Rodney was  _not_  running.  
  
He was not running through the corridors of Atlantis. He was hurrying in a not-trying-to-kill-them-cranky-natives-with-spears sort of way.  
  
 _Okay. I'm running._  
  
He was running through Atlantis using his mouse-gene to avoid encountering any personal, ducking through hidden thoroughfares and cross-linking transporters that didn't generally send-receive to each other.  
  
Rodney wasn't certain where he was going specifically. At each junction and transporter, he chose a direction at random while using his life-signs detector to look for areas where there were the least people and was as far away from John as he could get.  _Though he has an unfair advantage with that freakishly strong gene of his._  
  
John would find him, eventually. Rodney knew that. It was just a matter of  _when_  once John set his mind to it.

And Atlantis would help him.   _She may downright goad him. He probably doesn't even know that he acts as an extension of Atlantis—an avatar of sorts._  

But that didn't really matter since John would find him with or without Atlantis' help.  
  
Rodney turned another corner—long ago having ceased to pay heed to his location as much as his distance-from—and stepped into the completely deserted mess.  _Like no one will look for me here?_  
  
It could work though—for awhile. A rest.  _Yeah, running around Atlantis at too-fucking-late-o'clock at night is neither smart nor wise. And you call yourself a genius.  Why don't you want John to talk to you anyway?_  
  
 _I don't want to hear platitudes. I don't deserve platitudes._  
  
Rodney weaved his way between tables and chairs, working his way back to the floor-to-ceiling windows to find the entrance to the mess' balcony. His inner-Greek-chorus having a fine time snarking back and forth.  _New subject. Why is it always balconies?_  As Rodney stepped out onto the balcony, the salt-breeze brought him slamming back into his body, quieting the voices in his head, for the first time since Collins had gone post-toast. "Oh, god." 

_ohgodohgodohgodohgodohgod_

Rodney sunk to the floor, legs dangling over the edge, arms and chin resting on a cold cross-rail. "I don't think I can do this anymore."  
  
A hand came to rest on Rodney's shoulder, making him start. "Of course you can." A soft Czech-accent spoke as Radek sat carefully next to Rodney.  _Where the hell did he come from?_  They sat that way for a few moments:  Radek looking out across the dark water while Rodney beat his head against the railing.

When Rodney stopped, forehead resting against cool and smooth, Radek spoke again. "You are done pouting now? You will come back inside?"  
  
"I don't think so, Zippy."  
  
"Zelenka." Rodney turned his head to look at the vehemence in Radek's voice. "Rodney, I know you know my name. Why do you insist upon ridiculous alliteration?"  
  
 _'Cause Zelenka is what I would call you if we had just meet—assuming I was that polite, which I'm not.  It's **too**  strict and formal and I-don't-know-you. And I really didn't think you would appreciate being called Radek by me either._ Yeah, he could say that. "Sorry, Radek."  _Guess not._  Rodney turned his head to look down at the water below them.

Same dark. Same cold. Same crashing.  
  
Radek's put-upon-aggravated sigh filled the space between them. "I am still your friend, Rodney. Although why I am friend in the first place, I do not know." Rodney felt Radek's hand once again on his shoulder. "The Colonel is searching all of Atlantis for you." Rodney shrugged, adolescent and petulant though it may have been. "You know he will find you?" Rodney nodded. "Rodney, you are not Superman. You have said so yourself." Rodney didn't respond. What was he supposed to say?  _I may not be Superman, but I don't want to be this either?_  Suddenly, Rodney was facing Radek, a firm hand on his chin. "You will listen to me. We have all made mistakes here. Many of us made mistakes in this instance."  
  
"I don't think—"  
  
"I not finished. You're problem is you think too much and come to wrong conclusions because you feel too much as well." Radek snapped, releasing Rodney's chin with a sharp shake. "Colonel Caldwell should not have threatened Elizabeth with Pentagon interference. Elizabeth should not have permitted you to try if she felt it was bad idea. Colonel Sheppard should not have insisted that it was a good plan no matter how you sweet-talk." Radek's expression softened, guilt flickering through his eyes for a moment. "And I should not have waited so long to express my concerns. In this circumstance, you are just the flashiest of mistake-makers." Softer, so soft that Rodney barely heard it. "And I understand your reaction. It may have seemed that I was jealous."  
  
Rodney couldn't stand that brokenness. It was too similar to the hollowness that resounded within him. "No, Radek. No one else is at fault in this but me."  
  
Radek gave Rodney a that-is-the-arrogance-that-got-you-in-trouble-in-the-first-place look. Then, he shook his head. "You are not the first to make gigantic mistake during this expedition, nor shall you be last." He poked Rodney in the chest sharply. "Remember, Colonel Sheppard woke the Wraith? Carson made vaccine that killed half a planet? Elizabeth does not rein people in as she should? We are all making mistakes large and small. All we can do it pretend that everything will be fine until is." Radek snorted softly. "And, as much as you like to pretend I Robin to your Batman, that is not right—I am Cyborg to your Robin."  
  
Rodney felt a smile stretch his face. Not much of a smile, but the first he had had in awhile. "Watching Cadman's  _Teen Titans_  DVDs again, eh?"  
  
Radek nodded vigorously. "Yes, they are quite amusing." They sat in companionable silence for a moment. "Come," Radek said, motioning towards the balcony doors with a nod. "We shall have real coffee untampered by military distaste for sludge and leftover chocolate-thing from dinner and then you shall wait for the Colonel to find you and listen to what he says."  
  
Rodney stood, following Radek back towards the indoors. "I'm going to get another pep-talk, aren't I?" Rodney said, trying to sound like he were pouting, but instead merely sounding tired.  
  
"Yes." Radek's hand on his shoulder again, pushing him to get him to start walking again. "Coffee, chocolate, and Sheppard—that is to-do list."  
  
A laugh welled up and escaped Rodney before he could suppress it. He turned back to face Radek, barely able to speak. "You sure you don't want to switch places? I'll go continue with my self-flagellation and you can listen oh-so-attentively to Sheppard?"  
  
"The Colonel is quite attractive—" Radek seemed to consider Rodney's proposal for a moment. "But, no. I think you need to hear what he has to say more than I.  _I_  already know you are not infallible."  
  
"Just tell me that you don't like the hair."  
  
Radek chuckled briefly. "No, not the hair. Is worse than mine and I have excuse as scientist."  
  
They laughed for a moment more before Rodney sobered. "Radek, how can you be so certain that I won't make another nuclear-flavored mistake like this? That I won't kill us all next time?"  
  
Radek smiled and turned him back toward the mess, an arm across his shoulders. "I know you." 


	6. and it's in pardoning that we are pardoned

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Spoilers for: Potentially any Atlantis episode prior to "Trinity"—probably nothing actually spoilerish, but eh.
> 
> Again, the chapter title is from the Prayer of St. Francis. West Wing references are from "The State Dinner" (1.17) and "Inauguration: Over There" (4.15). Always thanks to my beta, whee, without whom this would never have reached the soft glow of the monitor.

"You know, one of the things that happens when I stay away too long, is that you forget that you don't have to power to fix everything. You have a big brain. And a good heart. And an ego the size of Montana. You do, Jed. You don't have the power to fix everything. But I do like watching you try."  
  
—Abbey Bartlet, "The State Dinner"  
  
  
BARTLET: There's a promise that I ask everyone who works here to make. Never doubt that a small group of thoughtful and committed citizens can change the world. You know why?  
  
WILL: It's the only thing that ever has.  
  
—"Inauguration: Over There"  
  


* * *

  
John stood in front of the door to the mess, attempting to catch his breath.  _What was I thinking running all over Atlantis looking for **Rodney**?_  An image of Rodney's pained eyes came unbidden to his mind.  _Oh, yeah. **That**. Friend in pain and all of that._  John shook his head. He wanted to make Rodney understand, but he had to convince him to listen to him first—that was the tricky part. And Atlantis insisted that Rodney was in the mess—sitting, waiting.  _But why would he chose to hide **here**  after the run-around he's given me?_  
  
 _Maybe he though no one would look for him here—_  
  
 _He's a smart man and that is illogical, Spock._  
  
"Okay, this has to stop." He was talking to himself. Arguing and nattering in his head, and he resolutely refused to accept that the voice in his head was  _female_  and came from that place where the Atlantian gadgets lit-up from— _This is all stranger than usual. It's downright silly. So everyone **stop**._  
  
Shaking his head, John willed the door to open and was surprised to find Rodney sitting in plain sight—an empty plate on the table to his left and a cup of coffee twisting between his hands.  _The least he could do is hide or be melodramatically hanging from a balcony._  Yet Rodney never looked up as John marched— _stomped like a kid_ —over to the table.  
  
"Rodney—" John said with as much authority as he had, pleasure tingling over his skin as Rodney's head snapped up. "You are going to sit there, absolutely  _silent_ , and listen to what I have to say." Cricket-chirping silence.  _Good._  "We've all been making mistakes here—out of the best of intentions, certainly, but monumental mistakes. Mistakes that have or will kill thousands—maybe millions. Making a mistake, even one as showy as yours, doesn't make you special. It makes you human—" John slowed as Rodney looked at him with perfect patience and a snark-laced eyebrow. "But you know all this, don't you?" John hung his head and sat down in an empty chair heavily. "Okay, who found you first?"  
  
"Radek."  
  
"Damn sneaky Czech." John muttered running a hand over his face.  _Damnit, Zelenka. I go chasing Rodney's remarkably agile ass all over Atlantis and you do—what? Stalk the mess? Set the sensors to locate just Rodney? That's **so**  cheating._  
  
 _You realize you now sound like a petulant child?_  
  
 _Oh, shut up._  "Well, let me just say this and then I'll drop it." John said as he looked back up at Rodney. "You have a big brain, a good heart, and an ego the size of Montana. _You. Can't. Fix. Everything._ "  
  
Rodney smiled:  sweet, shy, and heart-breakingly real. "You realize you just quoted  _West Wing_  at me?"  
  
John summoned up his best haughty pout. "Yeah, but that doesn't make it any less true."  
  
Still smiling in that same open, vulnerable way, Rodney nodded. "Yeah."  
  
John responded to that smile, feeling his own true face peak from behind his irreverent-joker-flyboy façade.

He felt invulnerable.

John suddenly sobered and he leaned forward, closer to Rodney. "I need to be serious a moment." John took Rodney's half-full cup of coffee and took a drink, grimacing at the burnt undertaste. "We're a small group of people, brighter than most, but still small and in a nearly impossible situation—how are we supposed to save Pegasus when the  _Ancients_  failed?"  
  
Rodney screwed up his face into a quizzical expression. "Because only a small group of thoughtful individuals have ever made a difference?"  
  
"Now who's quoting  _West Wing_?" John grinned as the beginnings of a full-blown-McKay smile spread across Rodney's face. "Are you ready to get back in the saddle?"  
  
"I think I might be."  
  
"Good." John stood and stepped to the other side of the table and pulled Rodney to his feet. "Then it's time for all good little astrophysicists to be in bed." Rodney looked about to protest, but John hushed him. "Ay! No talking back. Bed. You'll need to be at your best to handle tomorrow."  
  
Rodney paled.  _If that's possible._  "Can I just hide in my quarters 'til everyone forgets what a colossal idiot I made of myself?"  
  
"Nope." John grabbed Rodney by the wrist and dragged him out of the mess. 


	7. Khepri

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Spoilers for: Potentially any Atlantis episode prior to "Trinity"—probably nothing actually spoilerish, but eh.
> 
> Khepri, the "One who Came into Being", is a title used in association with Ra [Ra-Khepri] or Atum [Atum-Khepri] as the rising sun. Khepri is also associated with the scarab beetle that pushes Ra's sun disk across the sky. Khepri symbolizes the sun god's powers of creation and self-generation. The Khepri sun disk also represents eternal life...did I mention that Khepri is Egyptian?
> 
> There's a brief quote in here from The Village, but I don't want to tell you which one...it might ruin something.
> 
> As always, thanks to my beta, whee, cranky or not.

Cigarettes and chocolate milk  
These are just a couple of my cravings  
Everything it seems I like's a little bit stronger  
A little bit thicker,  
A little bit harmful for me...  
  
—Rufus Wainwright, "Cigarettes and Chocolate Milk"  
  


* * *

  
  
John pulled Rodney down the corridor towards Rodney's quarters—still holding onto his wrist.  _Why is he touching me? John **never**  touches me._  
  
That was it, wasn't it? John never—well,  _rarely_ —touched Rodney unless it was to shove him out of harm's way when a spear or arrow or some other ballistic-dangerous- _something_  was hurtling towards him.  _The way he never touches you—_  
  
Those touches were adrenaline-fueled and skin-tinglingly-too-brief for Rodney. But now— _here_ —after he had thought that John would never even want to speak—let alone  _socialize_ —with him again, here was John. Tracking him through the city to tell him that his catastrophic blunder was—well, not  _okay_ —but permitted.

Rodney was human and that was good because there were too few alternatives that weren't megalomaniacal killing machines of one sort or another.  
  
 _And he's dragging me back to my quarters._  Which sounded much more suggestive than it was.  
  
Rodney could see his door few steps away, a wave of disappointment at this odd interaction with John was ending. _It was nice while it lasted though._  

But, then Rodney's door slid open with a silent  _hiss,_  and John was pulling Rodney into his own room.  
  
The door hissed again, and Rodney leaned back against his now-closed door. Rodney felt surprise slide left into confusion. John was in his quarters—correction, John was in Rodney's  _room_ —still holding his wrist, and with the most peculiar look on his face. Desperation. Panic. Hunger?   _What—_  
  
The question never reached fruition as John pressed his lips to Rodney's. "I nearly lost you—nearly lost you  _again_." John murmured into Rodney's mouth. "Never happening again." 


	8. Ma'at

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Spoilers for: Potentially any Atlantis episode prior to "Trinity"—probably nothing actually spoilerish, but eh. There is a particular reference to "Duet".
> 
> Ma'at is a minor Egyptian goddess associated with law and cosmic order and is often seen in connection with creator deities. She was also known as the "daughter of Ra" and was integral to the soul's passage through the Hall of Two Truths where she was the feather of truth that weighed the heart. Ma'at has also been represented in conjunction with Horus, sometimes seen as her father, and his missing eye.
> 
> Thank you to my beta, whee. He's such a nice fellow.

Had a northern lad  
Well not exactly had  
He moved like the sunset  
God who painted that...  
  
—Tori Amos, "Northern Lad"  
  


* * *

  
Light. Brightness turning the sleep-dreamed darkness to something golden and lucid. The mattress beneath him hard and  _so_  not his own.

And there was a warm lump of satisfyingly pliant flesh, murmuring sleepily as limbs tangled with John's.  
  
John curled into the body next to him, fingers tracing muscle and bone, carding through soft hair. He opened his eyes and couldn't help the grin that spread across his face as bleary blue eyes meet his with a look of smug wonder glinting in their shadows.  
  
Nothing was ever going to be the same again.  
  
 _I can completely live with that._  
  
"Hey, Rodney." 


End file.
